


Touch Me/Touch Me Not

by der_tanzer



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse gets broken. Walter is the only one who cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me/Touch Me Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



> Written for my personal LJ prompty thing.  
> Alternate scene for episode 1:6, _Crazy Handful of Nothin'_  
>  For SegaBarrett, who wanted, well, this.

Jesse’s head exploded with pain and he hit the floor before he quite knew what had happened. He barely got his hands braced before a heavily shod foot caught him in the ribs. Something snapped and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The foot struck him again, at the same time that something heavy came down across his back. He tried to scream but all that came out was a muffled groan.

This wasn’t the first beating Jesse had taken and he already guessed that it wouldn’t be the last. What he didn’t know, or even suspect yet, was that it would be the worst. Although he would shortly be hoping so.

The loaded bag hit his back again, the foot struck his ribs, and then one or the other connected with his head. The next thing he knew he was on his feet, bent over Tuco’s desk. The pain in his ribs was unbearable, redoubled by the hands of the man in front of him pressing down on his shoulders. Jesse had time to think that he was spending far too much of this day facedown on hard surfaces before the reality of the situation sank in. Tuco wasn’t beating him or letting him go. Even in his semi-conscious state he knew that was bad.

Jesse tried to get his hands up to his face, hoping that even with his ribs grating and tearing inside him he might be able to push himself up and fight. But even that small attempt sent pain howling and slashing through his body. Someone behind him, Tuco, he guessed, struck him across the back of the head, splitting his scalp with a huge diamond ring. Jesse registered the blow but not the bleeding cut. His upper body was already overloaded with pain and there simply weren’t enough nerve transmitters free to alert his brain to such trivialities.

Hurt and terrified beyond the capacity for meaningful thought, Jesse lay limp and let his brain go dark. That was what it wanted. What _he_ wanted. To be dark and quiet for a while, until all this was over. He was granted the darkness but the quiet would come later. After Tuco was finished with this last humiliation. Jesse groaned softly as the big Mexican undid his belt and yanked his jeans down roughly.

“Hear that?” Tuco laughed, turning his eyes on the men who stood watching, one of them still restraining the struggling Skinny Pete. They whooped in approval and Tuco unzipped his pants. “He’s begging for it? Aren’t you, Pinkman? You _want_ me to Roto-Root your little pink ass, don’t you?”

Jesse kept his eyes closed and bit back the _no_ that screamed in his brain but would only be a whisper if he tried to voice it. Even if he had been able to shriek, there were no words in his vocabulary big enough to express his horror. _Mr. White would know the words_ , the thought a small light in the darkness of his mind. It comforted him in an inexplicable way to know that somewhere right now Mr. White was going about his business, perhaps thinking of Jesse, maybe even waiting for him. It was good to know that Mr. White was out there, not seeing this, not a part of this. It was normal in a way that nothing else about this day was, or ever could be.

Jesse clung to that image as Tuco shoved inside him, waking his brain to a whole new world of agony. His ribs were forgotten as excruciating pain pierced his belly and unhinged his knees. But, oh God, that was so much worse. His feet scrambled for purchase on the concrete floor, striving franticly to take some of his own weight. When Tuco pulled back, it felt like half of Jesse’s guts went with him. Tears leaked from under his closed eyelids and pooled on the surface of the filthy desk. But Jesse didn’t make a sound. Not when the invading flesh plunged into him again, or when it pulled out the rest of his lower intestines. He knew he was hurt badly, that he was busted up inside and probably bleeding internally. He knew he could quite possibly be dying now, and though his spirit rebelled, his body was beyond caring.

By the time Tuco was finished, Jesse’s mind had mostly shut down. He felt two pairs of hands lift him off the desk and carry him out the door without even pulling up his pants. They dropped him on the stoop and he tumbled bonelessly down the steps to the sidewalk. The last thing he knew was the laughter that followed him into the blissful dark.

***

Walter fumbled his phone closed and it dropped from his nerveless fingers. For a timeless moment he stood there in his bathrobe, not aware of the fallen phone that had popped apart at his feet. Jesse was in the hospital. He’d gone to see Tuco, Skinny Pete swore it would be okay, and now he was—what? Unconscious? Bleeding internally? Maybe dying? Skinny Pete hadn’t been too clear on those points, but then he wouldn’t be. He knew who Walter was, and Walt just bet he wouldn’t be getting the whole truth until he spoke to Jesse himself. Maybe not even then.

He had to speak to Jesse, right now. He spun away from the counter, stepped on the phone battery, and nearly fell. He bent down and gathered up the pieces, hastily snapping it back together. Running to his bedroom, he thanked whatever God might be that Skylar and Walt Jr. were already out for the day. Walter dressed as quickly as he could, grabbed his car keys and ran out without locking the front door. He realized as he dropped into the driver’s seat that he was already winded. Here he was, nearly fifty and with lung cancer, running more this morning than he had in the last five years.

Walter was familiar with the hospital by now. Skinny Pete had said room three-seventeen, which put Jesse on the third floor in the east wing. At least it wasn’t ICU, he told himself as he compulsively hit the elevator button. It wasn’t going to go up any faster, but his nerves wouldn’t let him be still. He needed to hit something.

Skinny Pete looked up when Walter entered the room, but Walt’s eyes were fixed on Jesse. He heard himself ask vaguely how badly Jesse was hurt, but Pete’s answer was a meaningless hum in the distance. The only word that stuck out was _Tuco_. Whoever, _whatever_ , Tuco was, he, or it, was responsible for this mess. For Jesse’s swollen eyes and bleeding mouth, the immobilizer that prevented him turning his head, the bloody urine that collected in the cath bag (God, don’t let it be kidney damage, he thought dimly), and who knew what other horrors? Right now Jesse was sleeping, still and peaceful under multiple blankets. Blood loss makes you cold, Walter thought, and wished his brain would shut the hell up. But what about when Jesse woke? What would hurt the most then? And who would care for him until he recovered?

“Tell me everything you know about this Tuco,” he said, sinking into a chair by the bed. Skinny Pete looked up in surprise. “ _Everything_.”

***

Jesse was in the hospital for three full days. Walter visited him for an hour or so every afternoon, telling him he was okay, that it was all taken care of, and Jesse was too hurt and tired to ask many questions. Nor did he have much to say. They watched game shows and cartoons, and Jesse extended Walter the privilege of spoon feeding him soup and Jell-O until he could move his neck again.

On the morning of the fifth day, Walter, who was by now known to the staff as Jesse’s uncle, bundled him into a wheelchair and took him out to his car.

“Yo, Mr. White, where’re we going, dude?”

“Back to your place. I have a friend who owns a cabin up in the mountains. He’s going camping for a couple of weeks and I’ve asked him to let people know I’m going with him. He thinks I’m really going to Vegas for a last hurrah before I croak, so I don’t have to worry about him telling Skylar.”

“And where are you _really_ going? Mexico?”

“I told you, to your place. Jesse, you can’t be alone right now. You can barely walk.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jesse mumbled, turning to stare out the window. Walter cleared his throat, still looking straight ahead.

“I know we haven’t talked about it, Jesse, but I know what happened to you. The doctor—he told me everything. Now, you don’t have to talk about it, I understand if you don’t want to, but I—I _do_ know. And I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“Jesus, man, shut _up_ ,” he groaned. “You’re right, I’m _not_ having this conversation. I don’t give a shit _what_ you do, okay? Just leave me alone.”

Walter drove on in silence.

***

During the last three days, Walter had been very busy. In addition to blowing up Tuco’s headquarters and making a meth deal that would solve all their problems, he had also been over to Jesse’s to clear out the garage and install an automatic door opener. Jesse showed the first small sign of interest when the overhead door rolled up but said nothing as Walt drove inside. Jesse waited for the door to close, obscuring them in shadow, before moving to get out of the car. He got his door open and then froze, caught by the pain in his ribs.

“Wait a second,” Walt said kindly. Jesse hung his head but stopped moving. He hated it but it was true. He couldn’t have gotten up by himself.

Walter turned off the engine, got out of the car and went around to Jesse’s side. He helped the boy maneuver his long legs from under the dash and eased him to his feet. Jesse wobbled a little and grabbed Walter’s arm before Walt could grab him first. The only way this was going to work was if Walter didn’t try to hold him. After Tuco, after three and a half days in the hospital, Jesse wasn’t going to let anyone restrain him ever again.

But he did cling to Walt’s arm all the way into the house and up the stairs, stopping every few yards to rest. His ribs hurt, his incision hurt, his slowly healing lung hurt, and for all those things he felt no shame. He’d taken his beating honestly, for the partnership, and Walter owed him the few moments he spent leaning against walls and gasping for breath.

After the job in the garage, Jesse wasn’t surprised to see that his room was significantly cleaner, too. The dirty dishes and old food were gone, the mess of discarded clothes had vanished, and he was pretty sure that the sheets on the bed were actually new. Still holding Walter’s arm, he crossed to the bed and sat down heavily. Yeah, these weren’t his sheets. They were softer, fancier, than any he’d bought. The comforter was, too. 

He toed off his shoes without bending over and began working to drag his t-shirt off over his head. The effort wrenched a heartbreaking groan from somewhere deep in his wounded chest and Walter bit back an echoing groan of sympathy. It was like watching Walter Jr. first learning to walk with his crutches. He went to the bed and hesitated, his hand wavering just above Jesse’s back. He genuinely didn’t know what would happen if he tried to help, but he couldn’t just stand here and watch. He caught the bottom edge of Jesse’s shirt and began swiftly to roll it up his back while Jesse’s hands were still pulling at the shoulders.

Jesse flinched and fell over backward across the bed, yanking the shirt off over his head with the momentum. Still, he cried out and kicked at Walter, who barely sidestepped it in time to avoid a seriously bruised shin.

“What are you _thinking_ , yo?” he shouted. “Don’t _touch_ me. I _told_ you that already.”

“I’m sorry,” Walt said quickly. “Jesse, I’m sorry. I just want to help.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t _need_ your help. Just stay off me.” He crawled away, reaching toward the head of the bed with a whimpering groan. Walt reached out instinctively, as he used to do to help his young son catch his balance, and somehow managed to keep from making contact. It was every bit as hard now as it had been back then.

Jesse pulled his feet up and used them to push as he crawled, groaning more pitifully as new frequencies of pain came online. Walt’s hands were still out, trembling with restraint, as he watched Jesse aligned himself and work his way between the crisp new sheets. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t bought them. It had been busywork, really, cleaning the house and trying to make things as nice as possible for Jesse’s recovery. A way to keep himself occupied and outside of his own home, so his family wouldn’t notice how very unhappy he was.

But this shaking, frightened Jesse was something of a surprise. Walter had chalked up his attitude in the hospital to just that—being in the hospital. Now that he was in his own home, with his best friend, he was supposed to relax. Only he wasn’t. Walter wondered if it was too different. Maybe Jesse would have been more comfortable with the sheets and blankets they had shared when Walter was still the only man to have been inside him. Maybe the messy room would have been familiar and cozy after the cold sterility of the hospital. Although, looking at Aunt Whatshername’s heavy drapes and antique furniture, he suspected this room would insist on being cozy no matter what the circumstances.

“What can I do for you?” Walt asked as Jesse settled down on his back with a last sobbing groan. “Would you like something to eat?”

“ _No_ , I would _not_ like something to eat. Fuck you, Mr. White, okay? My mouth hurts, my stomach hurts, my goddamn _ass_ hurts, and if you say one more word, I swear to Christ I’ll puke.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking with pain. For the first time, Jesse turned his head and regarded Walter seriously. “I—I’m so _sorry_ , Jesse. If I could have stopped this, if I could have done _anything_ to protect you…”

Jesse’s haunted eyes continued to study him and he faltered. “Anything, Jesse. I—I _love_ you. You know that, right? I—I’m an asshole, I admit that. I give you a hard time, I’ve called you stupid, I—I’ve hurt you, but I never meant any of it. I love you, that’s all. You’re my partner, no matter what.”

“Thanks, Mr. White,” he said carelessly. “That makes me feel a lot better.” Jesse closed his eyes then and pretended to sleep. Walter sat down in the window seat and pretended to read an old car magazine. Jesse did the better job.

***

At some point, fake sleep became the real thing. It was full dark, at least inside the heavily shaded room, when Jesse woke screaming. He tried to fight his way free of the tangled blankets, only to fall back sobbing at the pain. Walter was beside him in a second, turning on the lamp but not making any move to touch him.

“It’s all right, Jesse,” he said, and the effort of keeping his voice steady sounded somehow worse than shaky words would have been. “It’s all right, you’re safe.”

“Mr. White?” he whispered brokenly.

“Yes, Jesse?”

“I think I’m ready for you to hold me now.”


End file.
